


Areas of Clinical Interest

by Teddog



Series: Fate Week 2021 [2]
Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:46:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28706886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teddog/pseuds/Teddog
Summary: If the Throne of Heroes focuses on select aspects of a person, what happens to the rest of them? And if a servant is given all of the downtime in the world, what parts do they try to rebuild?Fate Week Day 2: Identity
Relationships: Robin Hood | Archer & Charles-Henri Sanson | Assassin
Series: Fate Week 2021 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2102640
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8
Collections: Fate Week 2021 Fic Collection





	Areas of Clinical Interest

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoiler/Content Warning:** Nothing that I can think of.

Assassin.

Charles-Henri Sanson knew how the Throne of Heroes filed his existence the moment he was summoned. It was part of the basic information imparted to all servants: how the world’s magical currents saw them and the new tools they had at their disposal.

At first, Sanson felt he could cope with the unpleasant grimness that came with his class. The ostracism in Chaldea should have felt no different than what he experienced while alive. He had survived for 67 years; however many months he’d be summoned here would be a drop in that bucket.

What he learned on the streets of Paris didn’t prepare for the hallways of Chaldea. The base wasn’t lined with estranged countrymen who recognized his face from public executions. Rather, these were his peers.

That meant a certain level of trust that Sanson couldn’t easily give. Some of those peers held resentments against him that spanned lifetimes. He expected as much. They hadn’t lived through peaceful times together. 

Those suspicions were at the forefront of Sanson’s mind when he noticed the entry panel to his dorm room. It was lit green instead of red. Unlocked. 

Sanson looked over his shoulders. The curved hallways of Chaldea were brightly lit, lined with chrome and white tile. He stood alone, with barely a shadow surrounding him. Nowhere for someone to hide. Whoever broke into his room was either long gone or still inside. 

He had two options: either sneak in or toss open the door to startle whoever was on the other side. Breaking into his own room felt ridiculous at best. Catching the culprit in the act would make a scene but shouldn’t come to blows. Chaldea was a place of allies, even if most of them kept their distance. Besides, if this was another elaborate prank by Amadeus, publicly humiliating the Caster would give Sanson more leverage at the next tea party. 

Kick in the door it was, then. Sanson straightened his shoulders and opened his jacket, hoping that the resulting silhouette would attract the attention of any would-be thief. He grabbed the handle and yanked the door open with as much force as it could take. 

Casually looking up from Sanson’s bed, as if he was expecting a guest, was Robin Hood. The Archer’s ginger hair and mossy-hued clothing stood out against Sanson’s immaculately white duvet. His proper armour must have been dematerialized; Sanson didn’t spot it casually tossed anywhere in the room. His cloak, though, had been draped against Sanson’s desk chair. 

“You could have knocked,” the Archer said in a cheerful tone. Sanson’s dramatic entrance hadn’t fazed him at all. 

The Assassin stood in the doorway, dumbfounded. As his heart rate slowed back down, he slowly found his voice again. 

“Robin, it’s my room.” Sanson fumbled through a reaction. It sounded more aggressive in his head than when it was spoken. Sanson could feel his control over the situation start to slip. He doubled down on the absurdity: “Why would I knock while entering  _ my own room _ ?”

“Well, you were outside for so long,” Robin replied with a shrug. “You were probably thinking about doing  _ something _ . Or maybe have some kind of tradition about crossing thresholds that I don’t know about. I can read body language, not minds, and there was a door in the way.” 

Sanson pointed over his shoulder, roughly towards the keypad. “You left it unlocked.”

“Oh!” Robin’s gaze drifted away and up at the ceiling. “You’re probably right. Sorry ‘bout that.” 

With a sigh, Sanson slid the door shut again. 

Sanson’s dorm room in Chaldea was simple. There wasn’t a point to personalize things too much if you didn’t know how long the mission would last. The desk was where Sanson had put the most attention and care. The surface was covered with notebooks and traditional writing utensils; the base staff had offered him a tablet, but Sanson found it less distracting to study the old fashioned way. Various medical textbooks he was reading through were neatly ordered on the bookshelf above the work area. 

“Some daring scholar-type checked out all of the interesting books from the library. I had to track them down,” Robin explained without prompting, holding up a book that had escaped Sanson’s notice until now. He didn’t even notice it missing from the shelf. While a servant could wield it with ease, the thick, hardbound volume would have been a challenge for a human to lift. 

There were many questions Sanson had about that confession. All of the easy ways to steer the conversation felt dismissive. Robin had an air of flightiness to him; going in hard could drive him off. 

Sanson sat down in his chair, spinning it around so he could face the bed. It placed him between Robin and his cloak. It was a calculated move. 

“You stayed here to read it?” Sanson asked. A gentle question. He waited patiently for the answer. 

“It felt like it belonged in here,” Robin replied. Sanson didn’t pry deeper immediately, leaving Robin an opening. The man took it. “You’re in the middle of a research project by the looks of your desk. It seemed rude to take your reference materials.”

“Oh, that?” Sanson glanced back at the desk. “It’s just a little hobby of mine.”

“Shouldn’t the Throne have brought you up to speed with modern medicine, then? Why study?” 

“Chaldea summoned Charles-Henri Sanson, the High Executioner. It didn’t call Charles-Henri Sanson, the back alley doctor who helped those who couldn’t afford formal treatment. Learning how to save people instead of killing them is an extracurricular activity.” 

Robin’s green eyes lit up as Sanson described his secret double life. The criminal-yet-altruistic nature of it must have sparked his imagination. 

“How about you?” Sanson asked. “That’s not the type of book someone reads for entertainment.” 

“Just feeding my curiosity,” Robin said, looking away from Sanson’s sharp gaze. “Poison is just medicine in reverse, right? I like seeing what knowledge from my day has made it around to the medical elites and what hasn’t been rediscovered yet.” 

Sanson blinked. “Do you have an example of something that eludes them?” 

“Nah, those are trade secrets,” Robin said with a grin. 

**Author's Note:**

>  **Postscript:** I think Robin is reading Martindale. 
> 
> Originally I did notes for a Nezha fic, but then I went to work and thought about this story idea instead. That Nezha fic might still appear later this week. Maybe.


End file.
